


It Takes All Kinds (To Make A World)

by amphitrite



Category: Tron: Uprising
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:49:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amphitrite/pseuds/amphitrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paige tries her best to keep busy, but Quorra refuses to leave her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Takes All Kinds (To Make A World)

> _“I’m sorry I won’t be able to hear you play again.”_  
>  —Quorra, “Isolated”

 

Working for Tessler, Paige did not have the luxury of spare time. When she wasn’t hunting the Renegade, she was training for war. The few moments she had to herself were rare and not always desirable. When she was alone and still, her mind would wander. She would think, and thinking always led to second-guessing herself, second-guessing the government, second-guessing Tessler and Clu. But second-guessing would do her no good. She had chosen this life, and no matter how much she disapproved of Tessler’s increasingly reckless brutality, she had nowhere else to go. The world she knew had been destroyed, and Paige was nothing if not a survivor.

In those quiet moments, her mind often strayed to the ISO who had changed everything — tricked her and ruined her life. Deceitful, stunningly beautiful Quorra, who had pretended to be just another program, chatting with her about her music and teaching her combat moves. Quorra, and her companion Ada, who had killed the only family Paige had ever known and forced her into the harsh, unforgiving life of a soldier. A life of commanding violent idiots and obeying orders she only agreed with half the time.

What was it that Quorra had said? That she could learn anything she put her mind to? Indeed, Paige had learned combat moves far beyond what Quorra had demonstrated that fateful day. Programmed to be a medic, she had transformed herself into the ultimate soldier. Sometimes, when she sparred with the other soldiers, she liked to imagine running into Quorra one day and showing that murdering scum just how much she had learned. This time, she would fling the other program across the room, execute a slick flip, and thrust her identity disc against the vulnerable white of her throat. Watch her squirm. Watch those wide, enchanting eyes fill with fear.

But her fantasies were not limited to battling Quorra. No matter how much time passed, Quorra’s pretty face refused to leave Paige’s mind: her asymmetrical haircut; her darkly rimmed, intelligent eyes; and her nearly fluorescent skin, so pale it glowed like the lights on her suit. Even clearer in her memory was the sharp lance of attraction that had slammed into her when they had first locked eyes. Then she had witnessed Quorra throwing her assailant over her shoulder, and the feeling of free falling had commandeered her insides. The other program moved like a warrior but spoke like a haunted angel.

And more than just charming her physically, Quorra had ensnared her with her words about surpassing her programming and doing what she was good at, what she loved. Even though the magic of those enticing words had been cheapened when she realized they had come from an ISO — of course they would encourage such blasphemy — they had still made an impact on her. She had never been praised for her music the way that Quorra and Ada had complimented her. All her life, programs had been celebrated for doing what they had been designated to do — not for picking up stray hobbies. The kind words had been embarrassing, but not unwelcome. She hadn’t known how to react or what to say, but deep inside, she had been pleased.

Not often did programs make such striking impressions on Paige.

Instinctively, the thought of being attracted to a derezzing ISO made her feel queasy, but Quorra had messed with her mind. Paige had been taught that ISOs were dysfunctional and unnatural, and she had always imagined the rogue programs to be warped, repulsive, ugly — not fiercely alluring like Quorra.

And there her thoughts went again, always circling back to Quorra. It should have disgusted her, the frequency with which the murderous ISO appeared in her mind, but it was becoming strangely comforting, in a way. Disquieting yet comforting.

After all, it was a welcome distraction from Tessler’s dirty work and Pavel’s constant attempts to get rid of her. A dangerous distraction, sure, but one that she allowed herself to indulge in at appropriate intervals. Back when she had worked as a medic, music had been the siren that took her mind off of the dreary work. Now she was slave to a siren of a different kind.

Then again, ISO or not, Quorra’s phantom was preferable to Tessler’s all-too-real presence any day. No real harm was being done, Paige persuaded herself. It was significantly less stressful than thinking about Clu’s ethics or the Renegade or her dead family, after all. And the less stressed out she was, the more focused she was in combat and the more likely it was that she would capture the Renegade at last. The more likely she was to evade Tessler’s fury and show that pompous bastard Pavel who really deserved to be the General’s second-in-command.

Besides, something in Paige’s code told her that her first encounter with Quorra would not be her last. And the next time they saw each other —

Well, Paige couldn’t decide if she would kiss or hit Quorra first.


End file.
